Chapter 19
Grayson
“Drop the weapon, Victor.”
“You know I can’t do that.”
“You can, and you will,” I say, keeping my gun level with Victor’s own. I see the moment his eyes flick to the side. “Don’t.”
My best friend’s arm swings to his right, toward the hostage bound in the corner of the room, and I pull the trigger.
Red blooms over his chest as he falls in staggered steps to the floor.
His knees, first, hitting the now red-tinged wood.
His hand, catching his weight. His eyes, looking at me with betrayal.
“Why did you have to do that?” I ask, my voice coming out choked in a way I don’t even have to force. “Why, Victor?”
His smile is pained, his hand at his chest ineffectually blocking the blood still pouring free. “I knew you’d be the end of me, McKayle. One way or another.”
“Was it worth it?” I ask, lowering my gun to my side. His is several feet from him, lying uselessly on the floor .
He laughs almost bitterly. But there’s amusement there. Even facing death, he relishes the fight between us. It’s easy to see.
“I would do it all again.” Victor slumps the moment the last word leaves his mouth, his hand out at his side, red streaked across the floor in a gory visual befitting the villain’s end.
He really did play such a good villain.
“Cut,” comes a voice, followed by a couple of cheers.
I let my smile show. “Please tell me we got it that time?”
“No kidding.” Ezra groans, lifting from the pool of fake blood surrounding him. “This stuff is a mess.”
“Pretty boy doesn’t like the blood?” I tease.
Ezra, no longer Victor, shoots me a scowl that has Harper laughing from the corner of the set.
“Seriously,” she says. “Did we get it? I want out of the rope.”
“We got it,” our director answers, his eyes reviewing the footage. He gives a big thumbs-up. “That’s a wrap for now, folks. Check your schedules on Monday for a list of reshoots. And do not get hammered this weekend. Save it for after the premiere, all right?”
Harper snorts as one of the assistants frees her from her bindings. Ezra gets to his feet and heads my way.
“Ez,” I caution, taking a step back, knowing full well what that glimmer in his eye means.
He grins sharply. Right before he tackles me to the floor.
The wind puffs out of me, and several people on the crew laugh as my very worst best friend proceeds to wipe fake blood all over my face and neck.
“Gonna get you back for this,” I wheeze.
He pats my cheek twice. “Who’s the pretty boy now?”
Ezra stands, holding out his hand to pull me to my feet. I accept it, only to tug him right back down. He grunts upon impact, rolling onto his back next to me to catch his breath. Harper shakes her head as she passes, a smile on her faux-bruised face.
I reach over to slap Ezra’s chest. “All right?”
“You suck.”
I keep my voice at a whisper. “Not as well as you, I’ve heard.”
He flips me off.
“People are going to hate you for this,” I point out. “The literal golden boy of Hollywood, turning rogue?”
“Nah.” His head lolls my way, a rakish grin on his blood-smeared face. Even at forty-six and covered in blood, Ezra Gold is as handsome as ever. “Everyone loves a bad boy.”
“If you say so.”
With a mighty grunt, Ezra pushes to his feet. He holds out his hand again, willing to gamble I won’t pull him to the floor a second time. Or just not caring. I clasp my hand with his, and Ezra hauls me up, the two of us heading off set.
There’s a lightness to the air within the studio, smiles on people’s faces now that the brunt of filming is done. We’ll likely have a few reshoots to take care of, but we’re in the final stretch now.
No matter how many times I do this, it never ceases to amaze me. If asked twenty-some years ago if I ever saw myself as a movie star, my answer would have been a resounding no. It wasn’t even on my radar.
How quickly life can change.
Ezra and I split into our respective trailers, my friend grumbling about the fake blood as he goes.
The man’s prima donna act is purely a show, meant for others’ amusement, even my own.
It’s how Ezra is hardwired. Wanting to make people smile and laugh.
Wanting them not to take him too seriously, even .
Because if people expect one thing, they’re not likely to look closer. Who would possibly think the flippant superstar Ezra Gold is actually one of the most genuinely thoughtful and caring individuals out there?
If you keep people at a distance, well, then they can’t hurt you where it matters, can they?
Ezra may play it up for the crowd, but despite the fame and glory that follow him around like a gnat seeking light, he’s humble beneath it all. A kind soul.
Assuming you don’t piss him off.
Red dye circles down the drain as I shower, my clothes in a bag I’ll take to Wardrobe later. I let out a sigh as I turn my face into the softly pelting water, the weight of this shoot so close to being behind me.
It’s not that I dislike filming. I don’t.
But each role I play consumes my life for however long it is I have to live it. It’s different for Ezra. He can slip into anybody’s skin in a moment’s notice. Action star? Romantic lead? Villain? There’s not a set of shoes out there he doesn’t feel comfortable in.
Whereas for me, it doesn’t come easy. It takes time to prepare for my part. To figure out who the person is I’m supposed to be embodying. To understand what makes them tick, their mannerisms, their patterns of speech.
Ezra often jokes I’ve lived a thousand lives because of how deeply I immerse myself into a role. And he may not be wrong. It feels that way sometimes.
But it’s a relief when I can finally shed the mask and let myself settle back into my own skin and bones. Sometimes I wonder how much longer I’ll keep doing this. Probably as long as Ezra .
Once I’m out of the shower and dressed, I go searching for my phone. There’s an influx of messages waiting for me. The usual rabble, but also an email from my lawyer and a single text from my now ex-wife that catches my eye. “It’s done,” is all it says.
Two words to signal the end of an era.
How…utterly anticlimactic.
The email is confirmation of what my ex sent. Our divorce has officially gone through. It was a long, long time coming.
I sit down on the small couch inside my trailer and call my daughter. It only takes a couple rings before she answers.
“Dad.”
The evenness of her tone tells me her mom has already called with the news. I’m not surprised.
“Hey, Peaches. I take it you heard?”
“Yeah,” she says quietly. “Are you okay?”
My heart clenches at her concern. “I’m fine,” I tell her, meaning it. Camilla and I have been separated for quite some time. Years, now. The divorce was simply the final door being shut on a house long since gone dark. “How are you?”
“It’s not really about me, is it?”
I’m not sure when my little girl went and grew up, but here we are. Me, in my mid-forties. Madison, twenty now and in her second year of college. Christ , I can remember her in diapers.
“It affects you, though,” I say gently. “And your feelings matter.”
She lets out a quiet huff. “It sucks, but it’s fine. We’re all adults.”
My lips twitch. “Ah, yes. How could I have forgotten. And…how many more months before you’re allowed to legally drink alcohol? ”
“As if you’d ever forget my birthday,” she counters. “Please, please don’t do anything embarrassing this year.”
“When have I ever?”
“ Every year. You and Ezra get these elaborate ideas into your head, and I’m the one who suffers. Just…take it easy for once?”
“I’ll try.”
Her responding sigh is proof she doesn’t believe me. “Moving on. Do me a favor?”
“Of course.”
“Do something for yourself this weekend,” she says, shocking me. “I don’t know what. Have a nice glass of scotch or…buy a first edition of your favorite book or whatever. Just…you deserve to be happy, Dad. You don’t have to pretend you’re sad about the divorce.”
“Peaches…”
“You don’t,” she repeats. “You don’t owe me or anyone else a certain emotional response. I know you and Mom weren’t happy together. Not for a long time. So just…be happy. Okay?”
“I’ll do my best,” I tell her, wishing I could give my daughter a hug. “I’ll be back in town in a couple weeks. Dinner?”
“You bet. Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
When I hang up, I let my phone rest on my leg.
The background is a picture of my daughter, her auburn hair lighter than my own, giving her the peaches-and-cream complexion that’s responsible for her nickname.
Next to her is Ezra, dark-haired and wide-grinned, looking proud of his honorary niece for moving into her first college dorm.
With a soft sigh of my own, I shut off the device and get up to find my friend.
A nice glass of scotch.
Yeah, that doesn’t sound half bad.
The party at Harper’s hotel room is loud, a good many of the cast and crew getting hammered, despite the warning we received. The scotch in my hand is nearly gone, but the woman hanging off my arm makes it difficult to finish the last dregs.
“What’s it like?” she asks, her smile too big. “Being famous, I mean.”
Lonely , I want to tell her. Even though it’s not entirely the truth. I have plenty of people in my life who keep the loneliness at bay.
But when you’re surrounded by people who don’t see you? Well, it’s more than a little isolating.
My eyes seek out Ezra in the crowd, but I can’t find him. He disappeared not long ago.
“It’s a dream come true,” I tell the woman. “Excuse me.”
“But—”
I politely remove her hand from my arm and walk off, my gaze swinging around. Harper gives me a grin from atop the lap of one of the crew members she’s taken a liking to. She holds her drink up in a silent cheers, and I give her a nod before moving on.
I finish my scotch as I walk toward the wet bar stationed in the adjoining room. I get stopped along the way, another fan I don’t recognize asking me questions and holding on to me. It takes a good few minutes to extract myself.
I’ve just reached the bar and am waiting on my second scotch when a new arm loops through my own. This time, it’s Ezra. He gives me a beaming smile.
“What are you doing?” I ask in some amusement.
“Figured you might be tired of batting women off with a stick. I’ll be your shield.”
I snort at his cheekiness, accepting my scotch from the person manning the bar. “You think that’ll stop them? Being married never did.”
Ezra shrugs. “Well, sure. Because they’ll be hitting on me instead.”
“You’re so full of it,” I inform my friend.
His smile widens, and he winks. Ezra leads me away from the bar, conversation buzzing around us. He finds a door to the balcony, and for a brief moment in time, the two of us escape. It won’t last forever, but I breathe in the cool evening air, the lights of the city stretched out in front of us.
Ezra lets me go to lean against the railing, picking up the thread of our conversation. “You’re not married anymore.”
“No,” I say, taking a small sip of my drink.
He turns toward me, quiet in a way he only ever is around me. He doesn’t have to fill the void with chatter. He’s thinking, I can tell.
Finally, he opens his mouth. “Move in with me.”
I nearly drop my drink off the balcony. “Ez. What?”
“Come on, Grayson. You’re newly divorced. We both know I’m never getting married. For fuck’s sake, we’re well on our way to fifty goddamn years old. I’m never as happy as when I’m with you, so just…let’s be together. What do we have to lose?”
My pulse is sprinting, but Ezra looks dead serious. “Everything,” I answer, as obvious as it is. “No one will understand.”
“Who gives a shit?”
I scrub a hand over my face, huffing out a breath. “Ezra…you’re not even out.”
“And you’re not even queer.”
“What’s it going to look like to the outside world?” I go on. “Two high-profile celebrities living together? Two men . Do you really want to do that to your career?”
“Fuck my career.” The words cause my mouth to snap shut. Ezra loves acting. “If you don’t care about the optics, then neither do I. Goddamn it, Gray, if I can’t live my life the way I want to, then what is it all even for?”
My heart hammers, my mind running through the implications. No one would understand. Ezra and I have had a Hollywood “bromance” for nearly twenty years. Everyone knows we’re best friends, and the media eats it up.
But to move in together?
“Gray.” Ezra’s voice is soft, his hand squeezing my arm, the touch like a tether. “I don’t care what people think. We’ve talked about it for years . How nice it would be if it could just be…us. The two of us. Why can’t it be?”
“They’ll assume we’re a couple.”
He shrugs.
“It won’t stay quiet,” I continue. “This will blow the fuck up.”
A smile begins to form on Ezra’s face. If I didn’t know him inside and out, I’d be alarmed by that smile.
But it’s not the chaos Ezra craves. It’s the fact that he knows he’s already won.
I drop my head with a groan. “This is the stupidest thing we could possibly do,” I tell him, knowing he’s well aware of that fact .
Ezra simply holds out his hand, waiting for my answer, a wide grin on his face.
It feels inevitable as I clasp my palm with his. This will go supernova. All the media sites, all our fans, our agent, our family and friends. There won’t be a way to come back from this.
Do I care?
Madison wanted me to do something for myself this weekend. Something that would make me happy.
Somehow, I doubt moving in with fellow movie star Ezra Gold was what she had in mind.